Fairy Blue
by CoriRedde
Summary: "The hell? The sun is...laughing?" And the girl at his window laughed. "Yeah, but you should see the moon." Her soul grabbed his. "Ready?" Well, no, he wasn't, but she tore away the seal on his soul and his clothes...not that he minded. AU. UP FOR ADOPTION. PM CoriRedde if you're interested!
1. Do You Believe in Fairies?

24

**Before hand notes**

**This is Maka!Soul, regardless of the Soul!OC you will see in the beginning, starting in II.**

**This is AU, there is lots of canon, but I'm adding some details that only apply to this story, so if you get confused, please PM or review to me! I don't want to destroy the awesomeness of Soul Eater!**

**All translations are at the very bottom of this page. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.**

**Enjoy and please leave a review (anything is acceptable, but please consider constructive criticism before flaming!) **

Fairy Blue

A Soul Eater FanFiction

CoriRedde

_Do You Believe in Fairies?_

_I._

"So, is this the place?" It's funny how short Black*Star really is with his hair matted down in the rain. His partner stands barely visible behind him in the blackness of the night.

The man he addressed cocks the guns in his hands, firing eight aligned shots into the air. He tosses the guns behind him; two girls land on their feet instead of metal clattering on concrete.

"I can't tell for sure," Death the Kid responds, crouching on the edge of the roof. His Weapons sit next to him, winding their fingers through his. They kiss his cheeks. "She's the only one who can find him."

Black*Star scoffs, "Come on, aren't you a death god? Some _shinigami_ you are, can't even sense a weapon soul."

"Hey, black-and-blue bastard," the Weapon leaning on Kid's left shoulder growls, "Shut up." Yellow energy crackles on his hands as he clenches his fists.

"A god like me doesn't listen to mortals like you!" He declares, jerking his thumb at himself.

"Oh, _please,"_ the girl responds, "I'm leaning on an actual god right now, and he listens to me all the time." Black*Star chooses not to comment on the way her hand slides up Kid's thigh before disappearing under his jacket.

"Your opinions are rejected, Liz!" He shouts instead, "Tsubaki listens to me all the time!"

"She's your partner," Kid responds, all practicality, "It's her duty." The _shinigami_ gives himself a mental pat on the back (perfectly in center, of course) at keeping his voice level when one of his weapons is plainly toying with the waistband of his pants.

Black*Star opens his mouth to respond but Tsubaki's gentle hand on his shoulder is enough to silence him.

A giggled 'whipped' came from the young death god's right.

"Patti," Death the Kid warns. His yellow eyes narrow at her, glowing in the darkness of a storming city. He receives another giggle in response. His eyes scan the city's skyline, looking for any signs of a flapping black coat. His wet hair falls in his eyes, reminding him he wouldn't be able to see anything in this rain anyway. When he reaches out with Soul Perception, he meets static. She's blocking him; her soul focuses on shoving him away. Kid is certain she doesn't even realize she has done that, so intent on her search is she.

"Aww…" Patti whines, leaning deeper into her meister, "Where is she? I'm hungry!" Kid squeezes her hand but remains silent.

Then the sound of a vibrate breaks the silence of the group, surprisingly loud over the sound of rain and thunder crashing around their rooftop perch.

"Answer that, Tsubaki," Black*Star moans, plopping to the ground. "Maybe it's her."

The shadow weapon nods and flicks a finger down the screen, her pretty face momentarily illuminated by the red and green incoming call display.

"_Moshi moshi,_" She whispers, her gentle voice tinkling in its native Japanese. A pause. "_Tsubaki desu, Shinigami-Sama. Ogenki desu ka?…Iie, chigaimasu…Douzo…Dare?...Wakarimasu…Hai, Sayonara." _She slips the phone into her pocket, turning to her meister and showing a truly frightened face. He stands immediately, catching her hands before she falls to her knees.

"_Dou ka, shimashita ka, Tsubaki?" _He asks, pulling her into his arms. They sink to the wet roof, Black*Star ghosting his nose through her dark hair. She moves her lips to his ear, whispering frantically in Japanese. Kid feels his weapons shift in annoyance: they can't understand the eastern language.

Black*Star jumps up suddenly.

"_Nani?" _He glances at Tsubaki, silently asking if she wants to share the information from the call or if he should. The shy girl nods at him to continue.

"_Yosh,_ Kid, we just got some bad news from ol' Death." Kid quirks an eyebrow, a strangely asymmetrical face for him to make.

"So, what is it?" The young _shinigami_ prompts. His weapons sit straighter next to him, Elizabeth's hand returning to her own side and not somewhere in his shirt in the serious atmosphere around them. _No pun intended,_ she thinks blandly in her head. She feels her meister's eyes roll and her sister's silent giggle.

"Head Skull-Cheese said Asura's been released by Medusa…not that he should worry, with a big guy like me around, that Kisshin'll be dead by morning." Death the Kid freezes, looking more like a marble stature and less like the calm, perfect young man with pale skin he usually plays.

"A-Asura?" he stutters, "Damnit." He stands, helping Liz and Patti to their feet. "How could this- Damn!" Tsubaki flinches; the assassin sends her comfort, reminding her that it is not her fault even if she delivered the news.

Patti and Liz watch their _shinigami_ meister begin to pace, running his hands repeatedly through his hair. "We should have waited to leave!" He shouts, frustration bleeds through his soul, reflecting on his Weapons' faces, "We should have been there! We could have stopped this from happening! We are the first team of spartoi, the first defense, and _where were we?"_ He stops moving, breathing hard.

"Huh, I don't see what the big deal is," Black*Star states, scratching the back of his head, "It's just some kisshin we gotta beat, right? Like I said, for a god like me, it'll be cake." His comments do not help Kid collect himself. Patti considers giving him a death glare.

"My own father couldn't kill him, Black*Star," Death the Kid speaks lowly, his voice shaking with unsuppressed anxiety, "and that means you are horridly inadequate." He slips his hands from his partners' to twist the rings on his hands nervously. "It means she better hurry up and find him or we are all dead."

"Good news, then."

All the assembled meisters and weapons jump as the new voice lands softly among them. Her pigtails hang limply down her shoulders, water-logged, but she is _vibrant_, her eyes shining with that determination that holds many in awe. Courage.

"Took you long enough, Maka," The blue-haired assassin shouts, conveniently forgetting the new problems piling around them, "We've all been freezing our asses off-"

"I found him, Kid," Maka states, blatantly interrupting and ignoring Black*Star's ranting. The black-haired young man looks up toward the sky, a small smile on his face. The Thompson sisters breathe his relief gratefully.

"Father will be pleased," he murmurs. Tsubaki steps forward, leaning down slightly to Maka's ear. She whispers something no one else caught.

"_Kore wa, nan desu ka?_" the blonde exclaims, closing her eyes to think. Tsubaki adds a few more words. "_Hai, Tsubaki-Chan." _She smiles before pulling a small mirror from her pocket.

"_Ano…"_ Tsubaki starts, biting her lip.

"Black*Star broke Lord Death's mirror," Liz interrupts, marching up to the two Japanese girls and plucking the mirror form Maka's hands to examine her face with it. "So you get to employ a cell phone." She then begins wiping daintily at the make-up smeared by the rain. She takes a moment to thank Lord Death for not allowing his son to notice the horridly asymmetrical smears the rain had o-so-kindly made on her face with her make-up. She feels a prickle in the back of her head from Kid.

_That smearing was my saving grace a few minutes ago. _Ah, yes, her hand-in-the-pants act. So he had been affected. She sends Patti a saucy smile that she makes certain her meister doesn't notice. The younger girl licks her lips.

Maka pulls out her own phone and dials.

"Hello? Lord Death?" There's the buzz of the god of death's cheery voice. "Meister Maka Albarn reporting: I found him." The buzzing gets louder; Kid assumes his father to be congratulating her. He knows Maka's face will get serious momentarily when his father reveals his deadlines and drops the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Yessir," Maka responds, and the stone mask slid into place as she digested the news and expectations.

"Yessir," she says again. They hear the decisive beep of the call ending.

"Alright," she commands, "Let's get a hotel." No one questions her, merely leaps off the high rise's roof as a unit, Weapons glinting in each flash of lightning.

Maka grins on her way down, coat flapping wildly behind her.

"Kisshin below!" She announces to her team, the high, wailing sound of a kisshin egg's soul filling her ears with her Soul Perception.

"Yahoo!" Black*Star screams to the night. A car alarm sounds on the street.

Maka draws her sleek _katana_ from its resting place at her hip and her _wakizashi_ from her boot. The steel weapons shine brightly, already lusting for the hot hiss of blood.

They land.

"Go, Spartoi!"

_II._

White keys sound out a falsely cheerful tune until he slips darkly tanned fingers onto black keys, the haunting accidentals sounding eerily similar to clashing blades in a fight for life and death. His right hand trills on a high B and its corresponding flat to mimic the depressing, cold rainfall he imagines would drench the warriors in his epic tale. He slips into A minor from the accidental filled C major his fingers had previously pounded out on the ivories. He slides his fingers down all the white keys, the sound of feet slipping on wet pavement and steel sliding against steel. He strikes dissonant chords in succession of each swing of a weapon he plays with his right hand, the wounds inflicted on the battling parties. Then F sharps fill his piece, walking the tune down a whole step to the key of G. He plays a determined set of notes that ring of an angel savior entering the battle to face the demon who cackles with a mix of B and C in a harsh, clanging sound. She spreads her wings with an arpeggio of an E minor chord, drawing her blade in a wide arc. She screams her intent to kill the demon with a rush of lovely, lilting major seven chords which become another E minor as she brings her sword down on the demon. A high, clear G octave over the dissonant, fading screams of the demon signify the angel's victory, and for a second, the pianist plays a happy, relieved tune before he plays the rain again and the piano drifts to silence. He lifts his foot from the sustain pedal.

Three sharp raps sound on the door.

"Solomon!" The voice is high and clear, but so painfully condescending. He chooses not to respond. The door opens, letting in a flood of warm, yellow light. The woman who precedes it is anything but. She commands attention, her long silver hair a halo of cold superiority surrounding lovely features and sharp, hawk eyes of blue-gray.

"What are you doing down here?" Her dress sweeps against the floor as she nears him, disappointment set on her pretty face. Again, the addressed does not answer.

"Speak, Solomon, why are you here playing your _disgusting _notes and not at your brother's celebration?" Silence. She slaps his cheek with two delicate fingers. "Speak!" Her voice is harder, shards of ice, but the volume does not increase.

Solomon slowly looks at her, red eyes half-lidded in cool indifference. "I don't care for these things, Mother." His low voice is quiet and reluctant.

The woman laughs delicately behind her gloved hand. "Foolish child, what you think does not matter, not tonight." She turns and steps back into the hallway. Solomon fantasizes for a moment that the floor would open and swallow her. "Your brother is the one shining tonight; you are but a shard of glass, hoping to reflect his beauty." He remains sitting, his suit jacket carelessly on the floor next to the piano bench.

"Come, Solomon."

"I don't want to, Mother." She narrows her eyes at him, dainty mouth pulling downward to voice her displeasure.

"You have no say in this, Solomon Daniel Evans," She sneers, "Come." So, the boy stands, shrugging into his suit jacket and buttoning it. He slouches in distaste and makes to stride rudely past his mother without offering his arm.

She sighs.

"Solomon," She stops him, "You may not go out there looking so dirty." Solomon mirrors her sigh and lets the woman fuss over his tie and jacket, smoothing and adjusting both into perfect order. She grips his arm when she has fixed him to her standards. He feels like she has shoved plaster into his suit to force him to stand straight.

"Do not disrupt Wesley's special night, do you understand?" The pianist snatches his arm away.

"Whatever you want, Mother." And he walks away, exuding a graceful, deadly air that most associate with nobility. His mother follows him, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow so as to look the part.

The party is elegant, tastefully so. An orchestra plays both slow and lively tunes designed for waltzing to. The chandeliers gleam in their own soft light. The light itself sparkles at every woman's neck and ears where jewelry with an unfathomable amount of zeros rests. The room smells of warm vanilla and cinnamon, Gourmet foods line the walls on tables covered with lace and the din of happy conversation fills the ball room.

Solomon finds this _disgusting._

A tall man approaches the boy and his mother, his proud brown eyes already locked onto the woman holding Solomon's arm.

"Genevieve, my love," He greets, "I see you have found him." He holds out a hand and pulls Solomon's mother to himself. "Son, where were you? Many of our guests have asked for you." Solomon shrugs. "There is a lovely lady here tonight for you, she calls herself Lauren VanVleur, a harpist at your school, I believe." He settles his hand at the small of the woman's back, "She should be near the orchestra."

Solomon nods, forcing himself not to shove his hands in his pockets. "Of course, Father." As he is walking away, someone calls to him.

"Soul!" It's his brother.

"Wes," he greets back slowly. The man of the hour smiles, his arm looped around a very pretty woman's waist.

"Come meet my girlfriend, brother," The older son suggests. Solomon has no choice but to comply. He walks up to Wesley and the girl, his face arranged in a half smile.

"Soul," Wesley starts again, "This is Miranda, she an Opera singer from Sydney, Australia. She has the voice of an angel." The woman hides her blush behind a small hand, accepting a kiss from her beau.

"I am pleased to meet you, Soul," Miranda says softly, "I have heard such fantastic things about you from this man here."

"Charmed," Solomon responds, feeling the exact opposite. He looks to his brother, "What do want me to do, Wes?" The elder laughs, shaking his head.

"Never could hide anything from you, Soul," he jokes. Solomon feels the ease his brother treats him with return him to himself, stowing away the stiff, formal Solomon Daniel Evans.

"Will you play the accompaniment to my latest piece? You know the one." Soul slowly nods, deciding he can do this one thing for his brother to follow his mother's orders for the first hour.

"Thanks, Soul," Wes grins. "I'll go halt the orchestra. In the meantime, why don't you say 'hi' to that gorgeous Polish thing you've got over there?" Soul rolls his eyes, but knowing his brother, his 'halting the orchestra' would happen after a surprise make-out with that Opera singer, so he has time.

He walks to where his father had said his classmate would be, but he cannot locate her. And then slender arms wrap around his torso.

"Hello, Soul Evans," She murmurs into his jacket.

"Lauren," He returns. He spins to her, unlocking himself from her embrace. "I did not know you had been invited." The girl smiles and winks.

"Of course not," She says, twisting her finger in a curl of her hair, "But I told the bouncer I'm your girlfriend and I just so happened to be dressed." Soul moans softly. The sound is not one of pleasure. _Girlfriend._ It's true, he has been dating the girl on an off for the past year, but he had never officially asked her to be his girlfriend, and he hasn't planned to.

"And how can you not love such a fantastic party?"

"How, indeed," Soul responds blandly.

"Let's dance, Soul!" Lauren bursts out, grabbing onto his arm, "I'm going to assume you were going to ask me."

"Sure," the boy murmurs offhandedly, sliding his hand to her back and presenting his other hand for her to delicately lay hers in. It is force of habit more than actual conscious behavior, yet he can hear Lauren's slight, happy squeal as he leads her to the dance floor. The song is a slow, romantic waltz. Soul prays his mother does not see this; she will ask him about it for weeks.

Lauren is an excellent dancer, her movements precise and exactly on beat with the gentle one, two, three, two, two, three, and so on. Soul finds it rather lifeless. She dances like a robot, each move carefully controlled and calculated, letting her partner lead the dance with the perfect amount of boldness to suggest a dip here or a twirl there. Yet again, Soul finds himself entirely unimpressed. They bow to each other as the orchestra finishes their final note.

Another song does not start.

"Lauren," he explains, "My brother wants me to play with him for his girlfriend. You don't mind, do you?" The Polish girl adjusts her dress, flashing him her cleavage to be the tease she is.

"Your brother may be playing for his girlfriend, but you will be playing for me, so I do not mind. Go." And she waltzed away to a server for some champagne, her dress sparkling as it moved around her. Soul did not waste time staring at her, for it was nothing he had not seen. He also does not bother to correct her that he has no reason to play _for _her. She is not to him what she thinks she is.

A finger taps at a microphone.

"Excuse me, everyone, pardon my interruption." It's Wesley's voice, his bow in one hand and violin in the other. The din in the room hushes.

"I would like to play a piece I composed for my beautiful sweetheart, Miranda Slusser. I have asked my younger brother, Solomon, to play with me." A smattering of applause rises around the room as _Solomon_ ascends the stairs to the stage. He walks straight to the piano, seating himself on the comfortable leather and waiting for his brother's cue.

"This piece is titled 'The Moon as a Sunrise', please enjoy." Wes breathes, his shoulders rising exaggeratedly to cue his brother, and, together, he and Solomon create a passionate piece speaking of love and peace. Soul watches his fingers intently. Wes had written the song in the key of D major, and Solomon plays it faithfully until he reaches a too-bored-to-care state of mind.

_A seven,_ he thinks, _and a B minor._ Wes is slowly moving into the final movement of the piece. Miranda was beaming, a pretty blush on her cheeks. Lauren is smiling happily, but this angers Solomon. She should know this is not how he plays.Solomon takes this as a challenge to release Soul and slips his fingers into the minor counterpart of D major, speaking of the lust and cravings a relationship held. Wes continues to play story of love over Soul's darkly powerful accompaniment, and the piece is so much better in Soul's opinion. He walks his fingers into a four part octave A harmony as Wes held an D on his stringed instrument. Polite applause sounds again, both brothers bowing as thanks. Soul looks up into the eyes of his mother who is displeased with him, yet eternally proud of her other son.

They step off the stage into the arms of each respective date, met with kisses and congratulations. Soul internally deflates. Lauren hadn't gotten it.

"Solomon," a low, disappointed voice interrupts the moment, "Come speak with me." A hand from which Soul had gotten his own dark color encloses on his wrist.

"Of course, Father."And he is led away to a secluded corner of the ballroom. He glances back at Lauren who grins and mouths. "_I'll be in your room."_ She winks. Soul groans too quietly for his father to hear.

Soul is taken to his mother, who also shows a mask of happiness.

"Solomon," She starts, "What have we said about your playing?" Soul remains silent.

"Your mother is speaking to you, Solomon; answer her." Soul flinches, turning to look into his father's eyes.

"Father, you will forever hate that I will be my own expression when I play," He glances out the window past his father's jet black hair, "and so will Mother. What you tell me I should play will not happen because it does not make me feel _alive._"

"You ruined your brother's piece, Solomon," Genevieve argues, "It was not your place to create your own arrangement. Wesley honored you by allowing you the chance to play what he had written!"

Soul continues to stare out the window. "An honor? You people are unbelievable." There is a flash outside. _What was that?_

"Leave this party at once, Solomon," Javier commands, "Go to your room and stay there until the morning. Wes will not have his special night tainted by you." There is something in the window again.

_Is that…a girl?_

"Fine," he responds to his father, "But I'm going because I don't want to be in this shithole, not because you think you can order me around like when I was five." And the boy storms away, ignoring his mother's rage at his language.

The steps seam forever away in his misery, but Soul trudges to them and up none the less. He stops at the window at the landing and glances out, looking for a sign of the person he had seen earlier.

"Must be my imagination," he growls, "Fuck this." And he enters his room.

Lauren is there as she had promised, already out of her dress and immodestly covered with her bra and pantyhose.

"Will your parents worry?" Soul asks, moving to remove his jacket and tie.

Lauren giggles, "They're in Poland, so no one will know." Soul slips off his belt and shoes.

"Alright then." And despite the fact that he doesn't love her, and doesn't really want her, he kisses her begging mouth and pushes her down on his bed. He can do with a distraction.

_III._

Maka plops down on the hotel's couch in their living room; she heaves a huge sigh.

"I never knew a hotel couch could fell so good," she giggles. Black*Star jumps and sits next to her.

"Eh," he responds, "The beds are better: very sturdy." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her. The assassin his the floor promptly after from the other meister's well-placed kick.

"If you are planning on something like that with Tsubaki, please get a different room on another floor," the blonde commands, lowering a glare to the blue-haired teen's face.

Black*Star cackled, "Maka, you're such a prude!" He can say what he wants, he knows she's not serious.

The book in her hands snaps shut. "I- I am not!"

More laughter. "Ah, poor little Maka's virgin ears can't handle the truth from such a big guy like M-"

"Maka Chop!"

"Shit!" Black*Star clutches his head, tears threatening to fall from his screwed-shut eyes, "Damnit, woman. What type of a book _is _that!"

Maka 'hmph's, crossing her arms across her chest. "You deserved worse for making comments about me and your pen- err, privates in the same sentence!" The assassin blinks slowly, comprehending her words with much difficulty.

"Haah? I didn't-" And then he bursts out laughing again. "Maka, you're the perverted one here, I was talking about _Ore-Sama,_ not my dick!"

"Black*Star!" Maka groans, slamming her own forehead against the thick hardcover in her hands, "Just…shut up." The bubbling laughter of two blonde bombshells entering the room interrupts the two childhood friends.

"-ver saw it coming!" That was Liz, her New York accent a little thicker with alcohol in her system.

"The perks of boobs, right, sis?" They dissolve into giggles on the floor; Death the Kid exits the master sweet to appraise his weapons.

"And what in my father's name have you done?" Liz and Patti look up at him and smile innocently.

"Nothin', Kiddo!" They chorus before slapping high fives. Kid leans down with his hands outstretched to help them up.

"Come on," he sighs, "Let's get you two to- whoa!" And the Thompson sisters decide the young _shinigami_ is better suited to lay on the floor with them. They immediately assault him with kisses, and the poor boy is left struggling on the floor.

Maka feels sick.

"I think I'm going to head to my room now," she murmurs, standing slowly.

"Y-yeah," Black*Star agrees, placing his feet carefully one after the other. The door to his room opens with a slight creak, his Weapon partner standing there in her _yukata_, hair wet from her bath. She smiles warmly at the blue-haired boy.

"_Nemui desu," _she murmurs, rubbing at her eyes. He marches up to her, leaning up to greet her with a kiss and ushering her inside with warnings of 'the nasty going on in the entrance hall'.

"_Oyasuminasai,"_ Tsubaki calls to Maka.

"_Soredewa nochi hodo," _The blonde waves and enters her room, grabbing her headphones and cranking up the volume. She is no fool in knowing that there would be two types of sleeping happening tonight with her friends. She would resign herself to one. Yet the girl smiles, because she has found her partner, and soon, she would not have to spend the nights alone.

Maka glances out the window before drawing the curtains. The moon is nowhere in sight, its laughing face hidden for once. "_…and hung up a black paper moon…"_ The song lulls the weaponless meister to sleep, a pillow pressed firmly over her head.

_IV._

"This is so not cool."

Soul is not an early morning person. Usually, he wakes at around nine or ten if left to his own devices. Waking at seven to his not-actually-girlfriend's snoring successfully pisses him off.

"_Damnit," _he grumbles in his head, "_So not sexy at all, Lauren." _ With no care or grace, Soul flings the girl's arm off him and stumbles into the bedroom. His face looks haggard; he does not have any of that just-had-sex smile or, in his case, smirk.

"Gotta break up with her," he tells his reflection, "The sex's not even good." He turns the faucet, the running water echoing around the spacious water closet. Soul splashes the cool liquid on his face and neck before deciding a shower would be just what the doctor ordered.

"_There's a naked girl sleeping in my bed and I don't need a cold shower," _he thought humorlessly, _"I must be gay." _ He steps under the warm spray and leans his head back, enjoying the heat. Then a pale hand reaches into his shower and turns on the secondary shower head.

"Lauren?" he asks, even though she was the only one it could be.

"Hmm?" she mumbles back, sleepily.

"Why are you up?" He asks back. He didn't tag a nickname onto it. _Maybe I should break up with her in the shower…_

"Heard you up," Lauren replies, joining him.

"Ah," Soul returns. He lathers shampoo through his hair, rinsing it. "Are you heading back after this?" Lauren shows him a disappointed face. _I guess when a girl is in the shower with you, your disinterested attitude doesn't sit well with her. _He still can't bring himself to care. _It's just the morning anyway, she'll get over it. _

"Unless you want to feed me breakfast," she winks. She reaches out her hands.

"Sorry, Lauren," Soul snaps, "Your innuendos are not cool right now." The girl rinses her hair, turning to face away from him. _I think I'm disappointed in your ass…_

"Whatever, Soul Evans," the harpist said, "I'll see you at school on Monday, then."

"Yeah."

_This morning…is not cool at all. Can't get any worse._

He had totally jinxed himself thinking like that. After escorting Lauren VanVleur from his house clad in a pair of jeans and tank top she had conveniently left there one night, Soul heads to his family's dining room, decked out in slacks and a clean white button up. The breakfast had been quiet as usual, but this time a tension tugged all of them to glare at each other.

"Soul," Wes finally says after awhile, "Thanks for backing me last night, bro." Genevieve quickly sets her fork down and dabs at her mouth with her napkin.

"Wesley," she intones, "I will not have your slang in my household."

"Of course," the elder brother amends, "I apologize, Mother."

Javier also sets down his coffee. "Please do not forgive your brother so easily, Wesley," the tall man orders, "Tell him what he has done wrong."

Wesley looks confused. "Wrong? I think Soul-"

"Solomon!" The mother interjects, fixing Wesley with a warning stare, face a little flustered.

"-Solomon did a wonderful job with that piece. It made my violin all the more powerful. Wouldn't you agree, brother?" Soul raises an eyebrow at his older brother. Why is he trying to make their parents hate him?

"Because my playing was so bad you had to look good, that it, Wes?"

"Language!" Genevieve shrieks. Wesley is taken aback.

"No, Sou-Solomon, I thought the darker piano added that edge the piece was missing."

Soul swallows loudly, "Thanks then, I guess." _If he wants to be a problem child, more power to him._

Wes smiles at him before turning to his father. "Have you work tonight, Father?" The man of mixed Mexican and Spanish descent nods.

"Yes, the orchestra is giving their benefit concert tonight."

"Oh!" The Lady Evans gasps, "I must call for your suit, Javier, darling. Please excuse me." And the woman stands and dashes away from the table, her not-to-be-finished breakfast left behind.

"I'm sure your conducting will be flawless, Father," Wes adds after a moment of silence. The man gives an acknowledging nod, but otherwise does nothing. Soul glowers across the table. He hates this morning.

"Father," He says softly, "May I be excused?" He wipes his face of all emotion and waits. It takes time, but finally his father sighs and gives him the go ahead. Soul is gone from the room in the next heartbeat.

"What an obnoxious child," Javier says flippantly. Soul grits his teeth and continues walking, pretending he hadn't heard it.

_Damn,_ he thinks, _what I wouldn't give to get the hell outta here. _

Something flashes by the window.

_V._

"…I understand, sir." Maka paces back the other direction again. Her five teammates sit squished together on the couch, eyes following their team leader's pacing.

"I don't know yet, sir," Maka explains, "I've only located him. I know what he looks like. It won't be too hard from here…Yes…I will do what I must…Fine then, I'll get his name today…He's my age, so I'm certain he's in school…I can always enroll there…I don't-…No, that doesn't make any sense…Why? His family is very well-to-do, but he's not the type…Something I saw when snooping around their mansion…oh…okay, then, Lord Death, I'll do it…What?...More time, please!...O-okay, I accept…thank you, Lord Death…Yeah, bye." The blonde meister sighs, sinking into the plush chair that sat at a perpendicular angle to the couch. Five pairs of eyes lean toward her.

"So…?" Black*Star is the one to break the silence. Maka buries her face in her hands.

"I'm _screwed_," she breathes. She slowly picks her head up, "How the hell am I supposed to awaken a closed soul, teach him to be a weapon, train with him, awaken my own potential, become the savior of the world, and make him love me in only five months?"

Her teammates blink.

"_Maka-chan_," Tsubaki whispers, "He doesn't have to love you." The girl in question blushes. Liz's on her instantly.

"You are blushing, holy shit!" She crows, "Maka thinks her weapon to-be is hawt!" Patti giggles and jumps up to join her sister.

"Hey, Sis," the younger Thompson giggles, tugging on her team leader's pigtail, "You thinking Maka needs a little magic?" Magic here meaning a shopping spree charged to Lord Death's account, make-up which Maka finds irritates her skin, and high-heeled shoes that the weaponless meister can't walk in. A.K.A., hell.

"Hell yeah, and while we are here in Manhattan, it's perfect!" Maka pulls her knees to herself.

"G-guys!" She yelps, "I-I don't think th-that! Stop!"

"Aww, but Maka," Patti whines.

"No." The meister repeats firmly. The Thompson sisters turn away together, showing Maka 'I-give-up' expressions. The shortest blonde doesn't believe it for a second. She glances to the young _shinigami _for assistance.

Death the Kid pulls his weapons back to his sides. "What did my father say?" he asks.

"Well," Maka says, "We basically have five months to be completely ready to fight Asura. According to Professor Stein, in four months the strength the kisshin was reborn with will fade and he'll start rapidly regaining new strength after that. At month six he'll become so powerful we won't have a chance. Five months is the longest amount of time we have to still be able to fight him safely, or as safe as possible."

"And how is Stein doing?" Kid questions carefully.

"Your dad says he is fine now, but he is being kept under constant watch. Miss Marie is staying with him." The young man with stripes in his hair breathes a little sigh of relief.

"Good," he says, "Then I guess we won't have to send you back for any surprise trips with your wavelength."

"I guess," Maka responds. Black*Star then stands up, throwing Tsubaki off his lap. The poor girl squeaks and lands on her butt in a heap.

"This sentimental shit is hurting my godly brain!" the assassin announces.

"What brain?" Maka deadpans.

"Ignoring that, peasant!" The assassin roars, "Let's get breakfast and solve today's problems!"

"_H-hai!"_ Tsubaki agrees, picking herself off from the floor. The _shinigami_ and his Weapons stand too, awaiting orders.

"Breakfast first in the dining hall," Maka decides, brushing off her skirt, "Then I need to find out _his_ name and I'll give you your assignments. Same place as last night."

"_Yahoo!_ There had better damn well be a fuckin' buffet, 'cause I am starving!" Tsubaki squeals as her meister throws her over his shoulder.

"_Ikose, Tsubaki!_" He races out the door then, the tall Japanese girl still on his shoulder. She screams at him to put her down all the way down the hall, her friends leaning out the door to stare incredulously at them.

"Then there was Black*Star…" Liz grumbles, carefully straightening the hair the assassin had mused with his passing.

"Food! Sis, let's go!" And Patti drags her older sister out the door, Maka and Kid following calmly behind them.

"You're more worried than you're letting on," Death the Kid muses thoughtfully as the elevator doors close with the Thompson sisters inside. He and Maka wait for the next one.

"Hmm," Maka replies, "I think I have reason to be worried, though." Her companion nods.

"Yes," he reasons, "If I'm reading you right, you're afraid it is not actually him. That you've gone so long trying to both contain and amplify your soul through artificial weapons you are now seeking out the first soul that seems to have weapon blood. And you are completely unsure how to accomplish creating what the rest of us have in only five months."

Maka bites her lip, looking away from him. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm certain Black*Star had it figured out before I did." Maka groans, slapping a hand over her eyes.

"He has a time advantage over me though," the young _shinigami_ tries, "and he's your best friend."

"Thanks for the effort, Kid," Maka moans, "But it's _Black*Star._"

"Touché." A ding alerts them of the arrival of the next elevator.

"Can I ask you how his soul felt?" Kid intones, stepping into the elevator. Maka tilts her head thoughtfully, following him inside.

"I don't want to sound cheesy," she says after a moment, "But it felt like…like _home,_ I guess. He saw me, I think, because I couldn't get myself to move fast enough away from the window. I wanted to wake his soul then and there." Kid absorbs this information before carefully deciding to say:

"And…?"

"A-and his soul was very dark." She adds, "Not in color. It was most definitely a weapon soul. But he felt rough around the edges, and he had this very addicting rhythmic pulse to it…he sounded like music." She blushes a deep red. "He reminded me of minor keys, he has a dark personality, I think. You know the old music room at the DWMA?" Kid nods. "He felt like that place." The elevator dings again, its doors sliding open to the din of guests milling around the hotel lobby.

They enter the dining hall with the dignified footsteps of top meisters of Shibusen, but stop and gape at the teammates they have no trouble locating.

_If Lord Death could see you now,_ Maka thinks. The rest of her team occupies the largest table in the center of the dining hall, food piled high on the table, plates of gourmet foods stacked on top of others. The empty plates are discarded in piles on the floor, and not one of the four of them have the decency to at least look embarrassed.

Kid twitches. "A-at least they managed to stack it in a square pyramid…" He chokes. Maka laughs. This is her team, and _Shinigami_ how she loved them. She ran to the table, her gentle friend holding a plate to her as soon as her bottom touches the seat.

"_Arigatou, Tsubaki-chan,"_ She tells the Weapon. "I promise to Maka-chop them for later," she adds, leaning over so Black*Star would catch it despite his ranting about how godly the food was.

"HA!" the blue-haired meister scoffs, "that may have worked last night when I was tired! But after a night with Tsubaki and a feast fit for a god you will not be able to hit me with your pathetic joke of an attack!" The rest of the table pauses to raise an eyebrow at Black*Star. No one had ever escaped a Maka Chop. No one ever would.

Speaking of which, the owner of the attack swallows the last bit of food on her plate and chucks it her childhood's friends face. The ceramic plate splinters on his forehead. Black*Star falls backwards out of his chair, splumping on the floor. Spartoi roars with laughter.

"And that is a," the blonde meister smirks, starting on her second plate, "Maka Chop."

_VI._

Soul grabs onto the side of the pool, breathing hard. Feet walk into his line of vision.

"Hey, bro," Wes drawls. The older boy drops his towel on the pool deck and sat at the edge of the pool, "how's the water?"

Soul leans back, floating and popping his goggles off his face. "Cool." He responds.

Wes shakes his head. "Not sure if you mean as in temperature, or cool as in good for swimming."

"Both," the younger decides, "Not warm, but for lap swimming…it's cool."

"Alright," Wesley stands on the diving block, "Then I guess I'll lap swim." Soul lifts an eyebrow, sharp teeth bared in a wicked smirk.

"Wanna make a bet outta that?" He asks. Wes smirked back at him, the shared red eyes of the Evans brothers flashing.

"What are you offering?"

Soul lifts himself onto the diving block next to his brother's. "I win, and you cover for me when I ditch this stupid benefit concert tonight."

Wesley holds out his hand, "And when I win, you tell me what's pissing you off so much." Soul grabs his brother's hand in a firm grip.

"Deal."

"Hundred free sound good to you?" Wes challenges, slipping his goggles into place, "I mean, you've already been swimming and are panting a little, I'm fresh. This'll be easy."

"C'mon, Wes, you've never beaten me at sports," Soul sneers, crouching on the block.

"Ready…"

"Set…"

"Go!"

The water drowns out noise around him, and Soul feels at peace. Fifty yards in and he realizes he's been a little too lax with his brother. He flips, kicking hard off the wall. He glides to the surface, arms pulling in powerful strokes. Half way through the final lap, Soul notices Wesley and himself to be neck and neck. His heart sinks. This means…

"A tie!" Wes shouts, pumping a fist in the air. "You know what that means."

"I went too easy on you?"

Wes laughs, shoving his brother playfully, "No way, Solomon. You gotta tell me what's eating you _and _I have to cover for you."

"Damn."

"So, what is it?"

Soul lifts himself out of the pool, bringing the towel to his hair. "It's Lauren."

"Yeah?" Wes copies his younger brother, slinging the towel around his shoulders.

"Slept with her last night."

Wes whistles appreciatively, "Don't blame you, Soul. She was a knockout."

"Didn't like it."

Wes freezes, his mind having trouble comprehending. "Huh?"

Soul glowers. "She thinks we're dating. Guess so, been on a few dates with her, on and off for a year now."

"Damn, man…"

"But I don't want to be in relationship with her. And technically I'm not, I never asked her out officially, but I want to break up, I guess. Can you do that, even if you're not dating a girl?"

Wes grabs a water bottle, drinking two huge gulps from it. "I don't know. I've never been in that situation before. What's wrong with her?"

"She's stupid," Soul mutters darkly, "I mean, her grades are decent, and she's good at the harp, but she has no standards and no ambition. No common sense, and she just manages to show up whenever I'm stressed or need a _distraction._"

"Tell you what," Wes offers, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I'll get you out of going to this thing tonight completely, and you go talk to her. Shame though, she's gorgeous."

"Eh, her face is pretty, but her body isn't anything special," Soul argues, "And she's not a talented lay."

"I hear the athletic type are excellent in bed," Wes leers, "Or was it the nerds? Hmm, how'd you like a combo of that, Soul?"

"Shut up!" The two brothers collide, arms locked around each other as they wrestle their way back into the pool. The following splash is impressive; they drag themselves from the water laughing so hard, their stomachs hurt. Their towels are now useless, having gone in with them.

Then something flashes at the edge of Soul's vision.

He pauses in his walk.

"You good, bro?" Wes asks, opening the gate to the bath house. He grabs out two towels and chucks one at the younger's head.

"Y-yeah," Soul says, distractedly catching the towel with one hand, "Let's go. I'm freezing my ass off."

_VII._

The trees around the manor are immaculately kept, Maka notices this as she hid in them. She had wasted time snooping around the windows of the large mansion, hoping to find the boy who had called to her soul. Then, she had heard laughter and splashing. After a quick scope from the roof, the blonde meister had found a pool with two occupants. Both are darkly tanned with startlingly white hair. They could have been twins, but Maka could see the age gap between them.

Now, she waits in a tree close to the pool, her weapons tucked away so as to not reflect the light. She would take advice from Black*Star, not that he ever used it. _Dissolve in the darkness and erase your breath._ Seems useful.

The boys mouths are moving, but she can't hear them, and she isn't close enough to read their lips. She creeps closer, climbing stealthily out onto the thick tree limb almost above their heads.

"-the nerds? How'd you like a combo of that, Soul?"

_Soul…_

"Shut up!" Maka sends out her wavelength as the boys climb back out of the pool, caressing the soul of the younger boy.

_So that's your name…_

The brothers start toward her hiding place and she quickly re-hides herself, but too late. Soul has already seen her. The manor has given her enough answers as it is, no need to stick around. She leaves quickly, racing back to the hotel.

_Soul Evans…Please accept what's coming to you._

_Wow, _she thinks in her head, _I sound like such a pedophile. _Then she laughs. She is elated, _ecstatic._ She has found him! She knows his name! Now Kid, Liz, and Patti can find anything she needs to know on him. Hopefully, Black*Star and Tsubaki have done their job for the afternoon: keeping any would-be kisshin from making it to terrorize the night and mapping out the city's best training spots. The weather is starting to get sticky.

The roof is a not a relief. The sun beats down mercilessly here, laughing and sweating, and the humidity is thick, but Maka is relieved to arrive. _Come here,_ she calls with her soul, connecting her wavelength to her team members. Soon enough, there's Kid scaling the building with Beelzebub, Patti and Liz in his hands. Black*Star bounds across the buildings, swinging around using Tsubaki's chain scythe form.

"Hey, Kid," Maka greets.

"Hello," he responds, flipping his guns from his fingers and allowing them to land on their feet.

"Hi, Maka!" Patti yells happily, "You won't believe the stuff we bought! Shopping here is-" She kisses her fingertips and throws them away from her mouth like a chef. Liz sighs in regret of having to leave their spree.

"Luckily," the elder Thompson adds, "We were able to get some stuff for you, too!"

"Maka!" The shout comes from Black*Star who has misjudged his final leap onto the building. He throws one end of Tsubaki at her. Maka catches the weapon easily, tugging on the chain to swing her friend up and onto the roof.

"_Bakeru ka?_" She hisses. The blue-haired assassin scratches his head.

"_Ah, Gomen. Demo, Ore wa Kami-_mmph_!"_

"_Gomenesai, Maka-chan,"_ Tsubaki smiles prettily, her hand over her meister's mouth.

"So, have you found anything?" That is Death the Kid, his hands resting on his hips.

"His name is Soul Evans," Maka supplies, "He has darkly tanned skin and white hair-"

"Wait!" Liz cries, "How do you know he is tan?" She shoves an accusing finger in Maka's face.

Maka feels her cheeks heat up. "Err, I may have caught him in the pool this morning?" Her voice went up at the end.

"I knew it!" Black*Star exclaims, lacing his fingers through the ones Tsubaki had used to seal his lips, "You are a closet pervert!"

"Anyway!" Maka continues, "He appears to be around seventeen. That should be enough for you to find him, right Kid?"

The young death god nods. "Liz and Patti, let's go hacking."

"Yes!" Patti squeals, jumping up and transforming. Her sister followed with an evil smirk.

"Just wait 'till I see what you're all blushy about!"

Maka groans.

"And you, *Star?" she mumbles.

"Black*Star's got you, Maka," the assassin announces, holding out a sheet of paper with wonderfully drawn maps to the best secluded areas within walking distance of the Evan's manor. Walking, in this case, meaning a fast jog for an hour, but meisters and weapons are made for that.

"This is the best one right here," Tsubaki says gently, her English cutely accented. She points with a slender finger, "It's underneath a bridge."

Maka smiles encouragingly, "Thanks, _Tsubaki-chan. _Your English is getting very good, by the way." The weapon beams.

"So then," Maka announces, "We know what we need to do. Kid, get me info on Soul Evans. Enroll me in his school or figure out some way I can get close to him and easily gain his trust. Black*Star, let Tsubaki report back to Lord Death. Tsubaki will also keep an accurate record of anything found today, so Kid, report to her. Black*Star, let's go spar."

"Yahoo!"

"Go, Spartoi!"

_VIII._

Soul glares out his window, mulling over the flashes of a person (he is convinced it has to be a person, and a girl at that) he keeps seeing. He is reminded of that movie he has seen as a kid.

"_Do you believe in fairies?"_

"_I do, I do!"_

Soul laughs humorlessly at himself, running tired fingers through his white hair. He looks outside again, watching the sky get darker. Then his eyes shoot wide open.

_The hell? Is the sun…laughing?_

_to be continued in…_

_The Second Star to the Right_

_**Well, I am just making life difficult for myself by working on so many fics at once, but I just have so many ideas. I started this fic because I had read lots of Maka is an outcast AU's and Soul brings her into the group (each one of these doesn't even connect with the original Soul Eater plot) so I decided to write one with Maka bringing Soul in and sticking to the same idea as the Original Soul Eater. I also am gonna throw in sex and romance and our favorite canon pairings. Sound good? **_

_**Anyone else notice my chapter titles kind-of are like Peter Pan? I did…**_

_**And what about the title? Who else loves Paper Moon by Tommy heavenly6? (This is the second opening in the anime…)**_

_**Yeah, these are long chapters. I'll tell you a bit about the set up. Each part (I, II, III, IV, etc.) has a goal to it. For example, part I is to introduce who the members of our shibusen gang are and some quirks I'm adding to this story which I'll talk about in a second. Part II is to introduce this story's Soul Eater and his family relationships which I really struggled with writing (and yes, he had sex with Lauren). Each chapter is made to cover an 'arc' so to speak of the story. Long chapters mean this story doesn't have to be quite so lengthy in chapter count, but having a goal means I can get the best quality I can. Yosh!**_

_**Let's talk character quirks! Tsubaki is, yes, Japanese. So are Black*Star and Maka, but they are very…err…white-washed. So, to make it interesting (and so I can play with Japanese) Tsubaki is not very comfortable speaking English and prefers her native language of Japanese. Therefore, most of her interactions are with Maka (Best Friend) and Black*Star (Meister/Boyfriend) because they are both Japanese and speak the language. If anyone does speak Japanese and wants to correct me…feel free! There will be other languages popping up in this story (ancient books, private conversations…can't say too much or I'll ruin it). If you are fairly fluent in any language, please let me know, I would love your translating abilities! However…I am already fluent in Spanish so I probably won't need your help for that if it happens. French would be greatly appreciated!**_

_**Ah, The Evans family…hate it. I still don't know how I even think Soul's family would act, but for this tory I made them cruel and impossibly heartless. I know they must love Soul to some degree, but here their disappointment shines through. Soul and Wes' interactions are fun to write, though! **_

**Translations: **

**(I'll do this at the very bottom of every chapter, but the chapter itself should have enough context clues for y'all who don't speak the language to figure out the gist of it. If it is imperative, I will include a translation like this following example: **Sin tu amor, mi vida es iqual con un cielo negro. _**(AN Translation: Without your love, my life is equal to a black sky.)**_ He whispered to her. **Wonderful!**

**This is the scene with Tsubaki's phone call:**

"Answer that, Tsubaki," Black*Star moaned, plopping to the ground. "Maybe it's her."

The shadow weapon nodded and flicked a finger down the screen, her pretty face momentarily illuminated by the red and green incoming call display.

"_Hello,_" She whispered, her gentle voice tinkling n its native Japanese. A pause. "_This is Tsubaki, Lord Death. How are you?…No, it isn't…Please, continue…Who?...I Understand…Yes, Good-bye." _She slipped the phone into her pocket, turning to her meister and showing a truly frightened face.

"_What's the matter, Tsubaki?" _He asked, pulling her into his arms. She moved her lips to his ear, whispering frantically in Japanese. Kid felt his weapons shift in annoyance: they couldn't understand the eastern language.

Black*Star jumped up suddenly.

"_What?" _He glanced at Tsubaki, silently asking if she wanted to share the information from the call or if he should. The shy girl nodded at him to continue.

"_Alright,_ Kid, we just got some bad news from ol' Death." Kid quirked an eyebrow, a strangely asymmetrical face for him to make.

**And this is Maka and Tsubaki's conversation:**

Tsubaki stepped forward, leaning down slightly to Maka's ear. She whispered something no one else caught.

"_What's this?_" the blonde exclaimed, closing her eyes to think. Tsubaki added a few more words. "_Yes, Tsubaki-Chan (chan is used to refer to a friend. It is the baby-talk version of san, as far as I understand it. It's more complicated than that though)." _She smiled before pulling a small mirror from her pocket.

"_Umm…"_ Tsubaki started, biting her lip.

**Maka and Black*Star heading to bed:**

"Y-yeah," Black*Star agreed, placing his feet carefully one after the other. The door to his room opened with a slight creak, his weapon partner standing there in her _yukata_, hair wet from her bath. She smiled warmly at the blue-haired boy.

"_I'm sleepy," _she murmured, rubbing at her eyes. He marched up to her, greeting her with a kiss and ushering her inside with warnings of 'the nasty going on in the entrance hall'.

"_Good night,"_ Tsubaki called to Maka.

"_See you later," _The blonde waved and entered her room, grabbing her headphones and cranking up the volume. She was no fool in knowing that there would be two types of sleeping happening tonight with her friends. She would resign herself to one.

**Black*Star's roof failure:**

"Maka!" The shout came from Black*Star who had misjudged his final leap onto the building. He threw one end of Tsubaki at her. Maka caught the weapon easily, tugging on the chain to swing her friend up and onto the roof.

"_Are you an idiot?_" She hissed. The blue-haired assassin scratched his head.

"_Yeah, sorry. But, I will surpass God-_mmph_!" (Please note, the Japanese put their verbs last, so he did not get to the 'surpass' part of that sentence, but there is no way for me to translate it to English without a verb…)_

"_Sorry, Maka-chan,"_ Tsubaki smiled prettily, her hand over her meister's mouth.

**Useful words and phrases:**

_Shinigami-Sama: _Shinigami means death god, sama is an honorific for someone of hight status, similar to lord or master

_Katana: _Traditional Japanese sword used by the samurai. Bleach fans will recognize this as the sealed form of most zanpaktou.

_Wakizashi:_ The short partner to a katana. Gin Ichimaru's zanpaktou's sealed form. (Jeez, could I make myself sound any more like a bleach otaku?)

_Yukata: _casual Japanese wear. Literally means bathing-clothes and was traditionally worn after baths and is provided at traditional Japanese inns. Now it is worn as informal yet traditional wear.

_Yosh: _Alright! An exclamation of triumph or Yeah!

_Moshi moshi: _Japanese greeting for the telephone or to get someone's attention

_Nani?: _What? This will be used a lot, but any anime fan should know this one.

_Ikose: _Let's go! Also will be used in other forms, but this is the most common.

_Hai: _Japanese for yes. Also used as Right! Or Ok! Not necessarily with exclamation points.

_Arigatou: _Thank you.

_Sayonara: _Good-bye.

_Kami: _god. Not to be confused with _Kami-Sama_ which refers to God the deity like Jesus.

_Baka: _idiot. My personal favorite word. It just sounds condescending.

Musical Descriptions: This would take hours to cover without being able to show you using an instrument, but I can assure you, anything I say is correct because I play five instruments. I am originally a pianist, so describing what Soul plays makes sense to me, but if you are super curious, PM or review, I will try my hardest. Otherwise, ask your nearest musically inclined friend. For this fic, know that G is the ky that resonates best with Maka's soul, major means the happier sounding notes and minor is the darker notes. I actually wrote the piece that I described Soul playing. I wish I could share it, but if it were to be stolen, I would be heartbroken. In the case that you are curious, I titled it "Sora no Uchouten" which means Rapture of the Sky.

_**I'm looking forward to when I get to post the next chapter! And review, please! I write so much faster with reviews because they are to authors what breakfast is to a starving man!**_

_**Cori signing off!**_


	2. The Second Star to the Right

**OML! (o my lawnmowers) I spent way too long working on this. This chapter should have been out a two months ago or more. However, at least it is beautiful now!**

**I'm sad for not getting as many reviews as I had hoped for this, but the hits and favorites counts were high, so I thought I'd continue. For the reviewers I did have, I can only say THANK YOU! Those were some of the nicest reviews I've ever seen and my heart just swelled up. So ARIGATO GOZAIMASU!**

**Chapter Notes:**

**1. I wrote the first part because I wanted to write a fight scene. Hope y'all don't mind!**

**2. I still don't speak fluent Japanese, so if you do, please volunteer to help! (If you speak French, you can be my best friend too).**

**3. These chapters will always be very long, so I recommend reading when you have a good chunk of time to enjoy them at your leisure. Or, I have them broken up into labeled sections for your convenience. If you don't know roman numerals...**

**4. There is Black*Star!Tsubaki and Liz!Kid!Patti in this story, but don't worry, it's not the highlight... **

**5. First three sections: Beta'd by the amazing awesome intelligent beautiful haleybug who I don't know what I would do without because she is so cool and I wish I was her. (as added by haley...lol.)**

**6. Last sections: UnBeta'd**

**7. If you have any suggestions for this story, I will definitely look into it. I'm going to introduce something this chapter that leaves for a lot of fluff and comedy and violence options...**

Fairy Blue

A Soul Eater FanFiction

CoriRedde

_The Second Star to the Right_

_IX._

"Stop holding back!" Maka orders, feet sliding backward on the mat. The gym they had decided on using is in top shape. State-of-the-art equipment fills the large rooms, and mirrors line the walls. Black*Star had spent a few minutes flexing in front of those, only to be Maka-chopped for his narcissism. The girl had wondered for a short moment why she agrees to letting him take his shirt off in the 'room built for gods'.

"Don't wanna make it too easy for me, Maka!" Comes the cheeky reply of Black*Star from the other corner of the boxing ring they had chosen to occupy. He crosses his arms behind his head, challenging grin in place. The blonde would never admit to flipping him the bird.

Maka throws herself forward with a yell, right arm pulled back for a jab, left guarding her middle. Black*Star catches her fist in his right hand. The blonde snaps her arm up and grips his wrist firmly in her left hand. She tugs, using Black*Star's forward momentum to swing her legs around. The assassin wobbles, stepping forward to steady himself. His movement puts him right in her line of trajectory. Her knees bash into the side of his head.

The wall looks nice with a new dent in it.

The blue-haired meister stands slowly, his hand rubbing his head. Maka proudly notes the grin has been replaced with narrowed eyes.

"_Kuso_, Maka," he curses, "That fuckin' hurt!"

The meister smirks with her hands on her hips, "I told you not to hold back!"

"Well then," Black*Star slides back into his stance, "_Ikose!"_ Then he launches off the gym's mat.

"Speed*Star!" He slams into the blonde, her arms crossed in front of her to block his attack. The blonde feels the breath knocked from her lungs. She steps back, flinging her arms out in a useless attempt to stop the explosive power of Speed*Star. The assassin pauses in his high speed movements with a concerned look on his face. He opens his mouth to ask if she is ok just to be fed a knuckle sandwich.

The two Shibusen warriors look at each other for a moment; then they move, sprinting forward.

Maka gives a war cry, dropping into a slide and the assassin continuing over her. He forward rolls back to his feet. Maka pops up, pigtail flying from the power of her soul. Black*Star's fingers crackle with yellow wavelength. They collide in the middle, soul energy creating a wind tunnel around the boxing ring. Maka throws a right hook. Black*Star counters with an uppercut. Maka takes the hit; she executes a back hand spring, feet connecting with her opponent's jaw in retaliation. The blonde drops to her elbows, sweeping her feet out. The assassin jumps over the attack, angling his body to come down hands first on Maka. She pushes up again, digs her knees into Black*Star's stomach, and throws him past her. He twists, taking away the force of Maka's blow. He hits the ground hard, Maka flying toward him, hands in a claw-like shape. The assassin scrambles to his feet, his own hands shaped into claws.

The air sparks with electricity.

The two feuding meisters collide.

"Soul Force!" Maka shouts, forcing her wavelength from her fingertips. Black*Star shouts the attack back at her, yellow and blue warring around them. Then, something snaps and their souls explode at the close contact. Both fly back, tumbling on the ground before catching themselves with their hands on the floor in a position reminiscent of track runners.

They stand again with bared teeth.

"Hey!" The interrupting shout is loud and rude. "What are you punks doing in my gym?!"

Black*Star clenches a fist, a wide shit-eating grin adorning his face.

"_Oi,_ chill, gramps," he shouts back, "Just sparring, alright? Weren't hurting _nothin'!"_ Maka shakes her head, adjusting her workout clothes to better cover her body. Hey, if Black*Star gets to be shirtless, then she sees no problem with a sports bra and gym shorts. Hell, she deserves it.

"You brats think you can just waltz in here when you like?" The large man bellows, "Not how the world works, brats! You need a membership to work out here!" Black*Star's grin widens (how is that even possible?), but Maka steps in front of him.

"So sorry, sir," she starts diplomatically, "We are just visiting here and did not realize the rules of use for your wonderful facility." She smiles and winks, putting on that innocent show that nearly almost always got her what she wanted.

Then insert Black*Star.

"Wonderful? It's no-" Maka slaps a hand over his mouth. She widened her smile at the owner. "_Damette-yo,_" she hisses between her teeth, face pretty but voice hard. The assassin gulps. He acknowledges the power of a Maka-Chop.

The owner grunts in acknowledgment of her comment, his fat face splitting into a pleased smile.

"Well," he grumbles, "I'll let it pass if you get your asses out of here now!" he raises a hand and points at the door. Maka releases Black*Star to dig in her pocket.

"Actually, sir," she starts again, "We're students at the DWMA," she holds out her school ID card, "Perhaps you know of our purpose, and so you understand the importance with which we hold our training." She couples this with a dazzlingly innocent smile.

The owner of the gym blinks slowly, "You tellin' me you're one of those idiots blabbin' on and on about them monsters? Kissing, was it?"

Maka keeps up her smile, trying her hardest to keep her hand away from the man's skull. A Maka-Chop will not help her case, she repeats in her head. "Well, it's-"

"No, you dumbshit! I am a meister, this chick here is my team leader, and you fucktards wouldn't stand a chance against us!" Maka almost swears. Why had she let go of her friend again? And of course he _has_ to continue.

"The hell type of name for an evil soul is _kissing?_ It's _kisshin_, you asshat!" At this point the man's face has become an interesting shade of purple. Maka sees a group of physically fit men standing with apparent interest on their faces.

"OUT!" The owner roars, "Get out of my gym, NOW!" Black*Star cracks his knuckles.

"Who's gonna make us? You, fatass?" The assassin sneers. The owner pulls out his phone, thumbing over the 9 on the dial pad.

"The police may have something to say about it, then!" The man growls, forcefully pressing the number. The _beep_ seems abnormally loud to Maka. She stands with her hands curled into fists, eyes clenched shut, and body shaking in barely suppressed rage.

Black*Star laughs obnoxiously, "The police are _second_ to us, jackass! We are _meisters!_" Maka faintly remembers a certain inaccurate movie depiction of the battle of Thermopylae. Then she wonders how many curses Black*Star knows with the word ass in them.

"Not in this town you don't!" The beep of the second 1 snaps Maka's patience. She spins on her heel and grabs her fellow student by the collar of his shirt.

"_Urusai!" _She yells in his face, "_Baka yamete-yo!"_ She gestures at the man who stands posed with his finger over the call button, 911 dialed on the screen. _"Mou deyou, imasugu ni. Kakko tsukenna-yo."_

_" Kono kuso-onna,"_ Black*Star grumbles in return.

"Maka-chop!" But the blonde does not take too kindly to his cursing. The blue-haired teen drops to the ground, holding his head.

"_Chikikuso, Maka, ite-na!" _She smiles evilly at his pain. Maka looks to the owner.

"We're very sorry, sir," She says with that charming smile back in place, "We'll be leaving now." The rest of the members of the gym laugh as the tiny girl drags her companion out by his hair, the male scrambling to keep up. Maka stops for a moment to pull on her hoodie and to chuck Black*Star's shirt at his face. As soon as the fabric is on her companion's body, the blonde grabs him by the head again and marches on to the exit.

"Hey, you! Kid!"

With a hand on the door, Maka pauses. Black*Star jumps from her hold in relief, patting his head in search of damage. A muscled man jogs up to them, a few of his buddies in tow. Maka recognizes them as the guys who have been watching them argue with the owner of the gym a few minutes ago.

"My name's Todd Road," the guy at the head of the group introduces himself. "You said you're DWMA?" He asks for clarification.

Maka merely nods, shooting Black*Star a glare to keep him quiet. The group of gym-junkies pat each other on the shoulders. Maka notices the badges on their gym bags read "Manhattan Kick-Boxing Team". She scoffs internally. There are four hand-to-hand combat specialists at Shibusen: Black*Star, Kilik, Death the Kid, and herself. Jokersters, these guys. Do they not realize she and her companion _fight_ for a living?

The man laughs, punching a fist into one hand, "Wanna spar us? I heard that DWMA kids are the best." He laughs again, this time in a mocking tone. "I don't believe it." His confident stance is as disgusting as the blue-haired assassin is arrogant. _That_ is saying something.

Together, Maka and Black*Star sigh. Maka pushes the door the rest of the way open. "No thanks," she dismisses with a note of finality, "I don't like _your _odds."

The men all stop laughing, sneers frozen in place.

"Yeah," Black*Star agrees, smirking, "I don't like an easy win." He too steps out of the door behind his team leader. "Unless you plan to put your whole team against us?"

Maka looks back with an eyebrow raised at Black*Star.

"_ Honki, baka?" _She resents that he gives her an 'oh, come on' grin, tilting his head toward the idiots asking for blood.

"Can't turn down a fight, can you?" She sighs, stepping back inside with a weary shrug of her shoulders. Black*Star gives an answering blood-thirsty grin. The kick-boxers seem excited, jumping around and hugging one another. Maka morbidly thinks it's the last time some of them will be able to hug someone else for awhile. She slowly unzips her hoodie, tossing it onto a nearby bench. "Let's get this over with."

Todd Road wrinkles his nose. "Tch, I don't like your attitude. Think you can take all of us at once?"

"It's a positive," Maka deadpans.

The guy growls, gesturing for his team to get in the ring and prepare to take these two kids down. Black*Star leaps clear across the room to land in the center of the ring. A chorus of 'holy shit' and 'who the fuck do you think you are' and 'the hell's fills the room. The blue-haired meister, as would be expected, soaks up the words as praise, laughing madly.

"Hey, Jerry!" Todd shouts, catching the attention of the fat owner, "We're sparring these punks." The owner, Jerry, smiled nastily. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit up.

"Kick their asses, Todd!" The man shouts an agreement. Maka's shoulders drop and she walks leisurely toward the ring. She vaults inside, landing on her feet next to Black*Star.

"This smell makes me almost miss _Stein-hakasei_," she murmurs, "Just need some formaldehyde to go with it."

Black*Star laughs, eyes scanning their opponents as they waited for Todd Road to get his slow ass in the ring. "These guys might get introduced to some as cadavers in a minute."

"So, you punks ready?" Todd Road enters the ring.

"First blood?" Black*Star suggests casually. The boxing team grins nervously as their leader agrees.

"Ok," Todd announces, "Ready, start!" He and a teammate step forward.

Maka and Black*Star wear twin bored frowns, but their eyes glint.

"Too easy," Maka mutters, glancing at the blue-haired assassin.

"One who knocks out the most gets lunch?" He suggests. Maka returns his smirk. Todd and his teammate sprint forward. _Are they moving in slow motion?_

"You're on."

_Let the slaughter begin._

_X._

"So, Kid," Liz drawls out slowly, reclining in her office chair, nail file in hand. The computer monitor for the computer station she had positioned herself at flashes the password required sign at her. "What do I look for?"

The _shinigami_ seated next to her glances at her momentarily, his attention still on the information rolling on Patti's screen a station over.

"I need his school and grade," Death the Kid responds after a moment, "find that and then get the school's information."

"Right," the tall blonde confirms. She gives her nails one last look over and sadly puts away her emery board, nestling the filing stick comfortably next to her newest nail polish color. Elizabeth pulls a flash drive from her purse.

Kid presses his phone to his ear.

"_ Konnichi-wa, Tsubaki-san," _he greets, voice low, _"Hai...genki?...Yoi dekita...Soul Evans...Ore wa.."_ Patti dutifully highlights key information even though she and her sister's combined understanding of the Japanese language amounts to a hamster's. They are street-bred Americans, what good would some eastern language do for them?

"_Tsuzuke-yo...Evans Soul-san no kazoku..." _ Kid speaks quickly and efficiently, leaning over Patti's shoulder. The younger Thompson sighs, boredom causing her to rest her chin on the heel of her hand, usual endless energy seemingly disappeared.

On the other side of Kid, Elizabeth inserts her flash drive and overrides the system, forcing the computer to connect with anything she wants. After a minute the override is complete, "Welcome Elizabeth Thompson" printed boldly on the monitor. Patti clicks to the next article. Liz looks at her own screen for a promising looking article. Her jaw drops.

"Patti, Kiddo," she breathes, "You've gotta see this."

"_Chotto, matte, kudasai, Tsubaki-san,"_ Kid says, finally tugging the phone from his ear. He politely covers the receiver. "What is it, Liz?"

"I got this picture of him in the school newspaper..."

Patti leans across her meister's lap, her eyes widening with her increasing giggles.

"That's him, sis?" She asks.

"Damn," Liz adds in agreement, "got a lucky bitch for a team leader, eh?" She points at the picture and whistles.

"Scroll down, Elizabeth," Death the Kid orders, lifting the phone back to his ear. "..._Evans Soul-san wa ensou no gakuen ga shusseki shidesu. Ongaku ga kenkyou shi...piano..."_

Liz leans over, blowing gently in her meister's ear. His steady stream of Japanese falters, and she takes the pause to shout: "And he's hawt!" Right into the phone. There is a collective shhing! in the library. A few patrons shoot death glares at the trio. Those brave enough to glare are shot down as two demon guns and a death god respond in turn.

Tsubaki stutters back, "_N-nani? Kid-kun, doushite-?"_

_"Iie, Tsubaki-san, Liz wa baka desu," _He explains, shooting a disapproving look at the elder of his two weapons. "_Ano..."_

Liz stands up straight, pointing an accusing finger at her meister, "You said my name!" She turns to her sister, "Didn't he say my name?"

Patti giggles madly, "Yep! I heard him say it, sis! Liz, Liz, Liz wa...somethin'!" And the shorter of the Thompson dissolves yet again. Death the Kid, bless his heart, continues to relay information to Tsubaki as if his weapons weren't lying on the floor making a racket in the library.

"Elizabeth!" he asks pleasantly, "If you could pull up his grade and class schedule, please." The addressed girl climbs back into her chair, a suspicious glare etched into her face. She places her hand obediently on the mouse, but does not turn her gaze to the screen, training it on her meister instead.

"If you keep looking at me like that," Death the Kid says, nonchalant, "You will get horridly asymmetrical wrinkles."

The effect is instantaneous.

Liz rearranges her expression into a (symmetrical) pout with large, unblinking eyes. "Gimme a kiss," she bargains, "a real one, and I'll cooperate." The young _shinigami_ narrows his eyes at her.

"_Gomen, Tsubaki-san,"_ he whispers to the receiver, "_Mata denwa suru-ne." _And he then taps the 'end call' button, the screen on his phone blacking out. "What are you planning?"

Liz smirks back shamelessly, "Wouldn't you like to find out?" Patti's hands start creeping up to his shoulders from behind.

"No," Kid deadpans. His weapons stop. They are his to command anyway; regardless of the playfulness between them, Death the Kid is the meister.

"So, Elizabeth, I would appreciate you finding those two things for me: grade and class schedule," Kid reiterates, "And Patricia, if you would get enrollment to his school for me, I would be grateful."

The next five minutes are spent with sulking Thompson sisters diligently working and Kid dutifully relaying to Tsubaki the important information they find.

Suddenly, Patti grabs Kid's arm.

"We have a problem."

_XI._

"You're in the clear, little brother."

Soul hadn't honestly been that grateful to Wes ever in his life. Now, with the purr of his motorcycle under him as the streets fly by, he feels a sense of foreboding.

_God, this is gonna suck, _he thinks, rounding a corner, _And it probably won't work, either. _A pessimist he may be, but he's also stubborn. So he continues on his way to the Polish harpist's house. It's just past lunchtime (which he skipped, but breaking up on a full stomach seemed like a generally bad idea), yet the roads are surprisingly clear for a Saturday afternoon. He turns sharply at the next corner, tires squealing on the pavement.

He can faintly hear shouts up ahead. This surprises him for the fact that his motorcycle helmet can block noise very well and the roar of his own engine muffles just about everything else. _What's going on?_

Up ahead of him, a door swings open, two teenagers bursting forth from it. _Huh?_ The shouts follow them as a team of muscled men charge out after them, blood, bruises, and swollen bits decorating their bodies. The kids are laughing. One has muscles on his muscles, his boisterous laugh echoing down the street. The other wears short shorts, mile long legs tucked into tiny gym shoes. Definitely a girl.

One pulls a knit hat low over his ears, but Soul swears he saw blue hair before the gray covered it. The other already has a hood pulled up; Soul dryly wonders if she has pink hair. One of the men grabs the back of her hoodie, pulling on it. The girl casually steps on his foot and touches the junction of his shoulder and neck. The man's arm falls limp. _What the fuck'd she just do? _She turns, running to catch up to her friend. The hood falls from her head. Long, blonde pigtails fly behind her. _Not pink. Ok._

"_Ikose, taichou-chama,"_ The boy shouts, gesturing vaguely toward the sky. Soul has no idea what he just said, still amazed he was able to hear anything at all. The girl says something back, her lips moving too far away for him to read. Soul gets the idea that she is responding in the same language the boy had spoken in, so he wouldn't have understood anyway.

She nods to her companion, and then they _jump._

The youngest Evans watches them ascend impossibly high over traffic. He blinks. The two teenagers are gone. He blinks again. Still gone. _What the hell? _He glances at people around him, but no one seems to have noticed the odd occurrence apparently only he witnessed. He looks up as he zooms under where those strange teenagers would be. He wonders if he is seriously losing his mind when he locates them jumping around on the building ledges, what looks like electricity sparking around their bodies. There is the shadow of a wing in his vision before he blinks and they're gone again.

It bothers him. Soul is a generally lazy, apathetic person, yet it really annoys him that he can't get these weird occurrences from the past two days out of his head. In true Soul-fashion, he shakes his head, takes a dive into traffic, and forgets about it. Or at least, he tells himself that he does. Pale, blond hair still haunts his vision.

Soul's stomach starts some interesting acrobatics as he makes the final turn onto his not-actually-sort-of-is-girlfriend-of-sort's street. Her house looms at the end of it. It is a homey number, the VanVluers not so rich as to own the monster contraption he lives in, but no so poor as to not have money to flaunt in the detailing and luxury cars parked in the driveway. Soul imagines his eyes spinning backwards into his brain if he rolls them enough to the things he finds generally uncool.

He parks his motorcycle on the driveway between an Audi A3 and Nissan Maxima. He notes the latter to be the lowest form of car Lauren's family owns. The dread pooling in his gut (why is he freaking out? This isn't even a real break up) makes his steps uncertain, and Soul retaliates his body by pulling on his Solomon persona. _Does this count as honest-to-god schizophrenia? _

The doorbell chimes.

Soul has to wait a moment for the answer, but the door finally opens to reveal a mini-me of the girl he has come to visit.

"C-can I help y-you, sir?" The girl (he estimates her to be thirteen) stutters in polite speech. Solomon tugs at his collar once, tossing the girl an award-winning, toothless smile. It's faker than his mother's boobs. The white-haired teen nearly gags at that thought.

"Yes, sweetheart, you can. Is your sister here?" The small version of Lauren blushes. Soul questions his brother's sanity for acting like this all day, every day. He wants to hit something.

"Umm...yes, she is up - she's in her room." The girl opens the door wide, gesturing for Soul to come in with a tiny hand. She smiles nervously before shouting for her sister in a definitely-not-inside voice. Soul hides his flinch by leaning down to slide his shoes off. The girl looks at him for a moment, the red on her cheeks bold and showing no signs of fading.

"Lauren will be down in a minute," she squeaks. Solomon pats her head.

"Thanks, sweetheart." The girl scampers away, hiding her face. What a cute, little annoyance. Soul is a terrible person. Suddenly, a shadow falls over him from up high.

"Soul?" That's Lauren, standing at the top of her staircase, cleavage hanging over the railing and a probably-is-but-he's-not-feeling-it seductive smile on her tasteless lips.

"Yo." The word is bland, but he pairs it with an arrogant smirk. Are there hearts in that bimbo's eyes?

Lauren waves an inviting hand at him, her lips pursed. "Come on up, Soul." He ditches his shoes on the mat and walks slowly up the elegantly twisted staircase.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Lauren giggles when he's made it halfway up the stairs. She tosses her wavy hair over her shoulder, leaning her elbows against the rail. She wraps her arms around his neck and mashes her boobs into his chest when he's made it up to the landing. He makes no move to hug her back even when she presses a kiss to his neck. The harpist releases him slowly, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"To my room, then?" She takes his hand, winding her fingers through his and running her long thumbnail over his wrist. A shiver runs down Soul's spine. It's not pleasurable. _What is she? A closet sadist?_

"Sure." He praises himself for the smooth tone of his voice. He doesn't grip her hand back, but follows Lauren easily enough into the sparkly disaster she calls her room. It's really not so bad, Soul consents to his own indignation. The white walls and decor with rainbow colored sparkly accents all over make his skin look even darker. He amuses himself by picturing his brother's hair drowned in these..._decorations. _

Lauren flops back on the bed, her legs spread out casually. Her attempts at seduction almost make him pity her. Soul thinks he will keep quiet about the granny panties she's shamelessly flashing from under her skirt as he sits on the stool next to her harp.

"So, Soul..." She drags a lazy finger up her own side. How much more _stupidity _is she planning to subject him to? "What really brings you here?" She winks as if it's obvious. Soul supposes that after last night, it would seems obvious.

"I need to speak frankly with you." Perhaps it's his pattern of speech, but Lauren sits up instantly, crossing her legs and arms.

"Shit," she scoffs, "Can we make love and then talk?" She glances at the perfectly arranged pillows longingly.

Soul is not amused. "No." He stands from the stool, his eyes narrow and serious. "We are going to talk now." In his head, he plans out a long, gentle let down for the girl who had been a nice enough distraction to him when he was down in the dumps. Unlucky for her, that's all he saw it as.

Lauren deflates. "Fine, fine." She flops back down on her bed with the same disgusting abandon, "What is it?" She seems impatient, fingers already playing with the buttons on her blouse.

The pianist runs a hand through his unruly hair and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. The room seems to echo the silence around the two occupants. He thinks of his careful words for her. He opens his mouth.

"I will not be seeing you anymore," he says after a long pause. In the face of actually 'breaking up' with Lauren, he seems to have lost his elegance. The result of his blunt words is explosive and rather undignified.

"_What?!"_ Lauren screeches, shooting up from her bed. She rises stiffly and her cheeks color red in anger. "You're _dumping_ me?" Well, maybe the bluntness what better anyway. She seems to be understanding it.

Soul gives her a nasty smirk. "Well now, that's kind of hard to do when we're not actually dating, isn't it?" He calls attention to her loose style, reminding her that _she _willingly slept with _him_ with no strings multiple times. Lauren is breathing hard now.

"You...you can't do that!" She spits out, closing the distance between them and pressing herself right up against him. She tilts her head so she doesn't stare at his nose.

Soul steps back immediately. "I can and am, Lauren."

She points a finger, poking his chest, "B-but you...you like me! I like you!"

Soul gives a humorless laugh. "Shit. I like your _convenience._" There's tears in her eyes after that. Soul would feel bad for the girl if she wasn't so _slutty._ He almost wants to feel bad, but he wants more than a pretty face begging for Soul _Evans. _

"I don't like you," he continues as she stumbles backward, dropping onto her bed, "We had sex because you offered yourself to me. I'm not that honorable, you know?" She grips the duvet in sweaty hands.

"G-get out," she demands, looking away from him. Soul shrugs and saunters toward the door with no hesitation.

"W-wait!" Lauren calls. Soul stops, but doesn't look at her. "I never want to see you again!"

Soul looks at his hand on the doorknob. He quietly declares the feeling is mutual before stepping out, leaving the girl to sob angrily in her room.

"You're an ass, Solomon Evans!" She screams after him.

_Yeah, _Soul agrees in his head, _Solomon is._

_XII._

The light of the computer screen glows eerily onto the two meisters' faces as Maka and Death the Kid scroll through the list of important information Tsubaki had ever so kindly assembled. Maka's eyes flit back and forth at impressive speeds as she absorbs the information like a sponge. A fighter she may be, but never discount her bookworm tendencies.

"Can you get me in?" Maka breaks the silence between her and her fellow technician with a stretch, her back popping. She sighs in a satisfied manner.

Kid nods. "Easily. If worst comes to worst, I can simply ask my father." Maka leans her hip against the desk the _shinigami _had placed the newly bought laptop on. She crosses her arms.

"I'd rather not have to be that extreme though," she says, tipping her head back and looking at the ceiling. "Where does he go again?" Death the Kid sits back in his chair and crosses one ankle over his knee. He shoots a worried glance her way that Maka does not fail to register.

"Bach and Vivaldi," he recites from memory. His team leader rubs her chin in slight curiosity.

"Those are composers," she states, "Dead ones." Kid almost cracks a smile at her blunt observation.

"_Ah," _He agrees, "It's a music academy." Maka's fingers twiddling with a few strands of her blonde hair freeze; she levels an incredulous stare at her boss's son.

"A_ music academy?_" She repeats for good measure. She paces a few steps, gathering her shocked thoughts into order. A little bit of fear and shock run through her system. "With only two months of school left, is it really plausible to get me in?"

"If it's a matter of admissions," the _shinigami_ responds, "You're grades are good enough to get you anywhere, but-"

"Do you think I can just wait until school is out for the summer to contact him?"

Lord Death's heir stares at her. "Is three months enough time?" Maka slumps, burying her face in her hands for a moment. She knows as well as her teammate that the five month deadline she already has is, well, hopeful enough as it is. A year would be pushing it, yet she has less than half of one.

"Although...I don't know how we would enter you," Kid admits, pinching the bridge of his nose, "This is a very prestigious academy. What are you going to study?" He looks at her worriedly. "What music _anything _are you proficient in?" He begins to mumble about possibly having Kim, a witch from the second Spartoi team, spell her into a musical talent or creating a an instrument that can play by itself.

"Kid," Maka starts slowly, "Don't worry about it, ok? I'll be fine." She oozes uncertainty, but that determined expression is enough to appease Death the Kid until further notice.

"Print all that stuff about him off for me, please," Maka requests, "I'll start tomorrow. Make all the preparations you can and do anything you need to for me to start tomorrow. It'll be Monday, after all." Kid murmurs his consent, fingers already flying across the keys on the laptop.

"I'm going to take a shower." Maka announces after a moment of watching her friend enroll her in a school she has no desire to attend. But, there are necessary evils, and she beats unnecessary ones for a living, so she supposes she'll make it through just fine. With this thought, she turns and exits Kid, Liz, and Patti's room in the hotel suite. Death the Kid watches the female meister leave. He activates his Soul Perception to watch the wings on her soul stretch and flap.

_Everything will work out just fine,_ he tells himself firmly, _She knows what she's doing._

Somewhere else in Manhattan, Kid feels an answering blip on his radar as Maka's wings disappear.

_...I hope._

_XIII._

Black*Star, as a rule, is not a firm believer in privacy. He understands the principle of it, and sometimes likes it for himself, but mostly he stands by the phrase 'secrets don't make friends'. It seemed to work. He is a popular guy after all. Then again, a god should be well-known.

Anyway, all this serves to explain exactly why Black*Star is creeping around in the room Maka is occupying in Spartoi's suite. Even after scouring the city for training grounds, sparring with the aforementioned girl, getting chased by idiot kick-boxers, leaping around buildings, taking a bath (with Tsubaki, beat chest and proclaim manly pride), and running from hotel staff, the blue-haired ball of endless energy finds himself completely and utterly bored.

Tsubaki, after giving him such a wonderful scalp-massage, had been dragged off with Liz and Patti for Shopping! Round Two!, leaving him with no chance for him and his girlfriend's round two. With the weapon gone and Kid busy enrolling Maka in some fancy-ass school, Black*Star had decided his team leader's room was the place to be. She never has to know anyway, since the girl is in the shower.

As the assassin searches for a diary or something embarrassing (a vibrator, maybe?) to use as blackmail against Maka, he suddenly hears the most _interesting _sound from the bathroom. Surprisingly enough, this sound _shocks _him. He who has known Maka Albarn the longest!

Black*Star edges toward the door; his jaw drops in fascination. How had he never known _this?_ He stands at the door until the fact that the water has stopped running finally registers in his brain. Instantly, he dives from the room, running toward the young _shinigami_'s room. He find the symmetry obsessed death god staring contemplatively at the computer in front of him.

"Kid, watcha doin'?" He asks, bouncing down on the desk. Death the Kid looks up at him with a sudden realization.

"Oh, Black*Star, you've known Maka for awhile," he states, intertwinging his fingers, "What should I enroll her in for this music academy?"

Black*Star shrugs.

"What about voice," he suggests casually. Kid raises his eyebrows, talking about the prestige of the academy and how impossible it is to fake good vocals.

The assassin guffaws loudly. "Dude, Maka can sing." Another incredulous face and short lecture on the level of the students attending this school is the _shinigami_'s response.

"No, Kid," Black*Star interrupts, "Maka can really sing. Like really good." Kid sits in a state of shock. His team leader...a singer?

"Are you sure, Black*Star?" He asks the blue-haired meister after a moment. The hyperactive man grabs Kid's upper arm and drags him to his feet.

"I'll prove it!" He forces the _shinigami _to enter Maka's room with him despite the symmetry obsessed man's squawking that this is not proper and they should not be there. Once they've entered the room though, all protests die in Kid's mouth as he hears it too. The sweet sound of their team leader singing echoes slightly against the door they've pressed their ears to.

"That's..." Death the Kid trails off, mesmerized by the deep melody Maka is producing.

"_Suge!_" Black*Star agrees, punching a fist in the air. So entranced are they by the sound, that when Maka opens the door to see them sitting on her floor, they don't notice.

"What the hell are you doing?" She demands. She thanks her lucky stars that she decided to get dressed in the bathroom so that this could be less embarrassing. However, she realizes that those two sitting there at this time means they heard her singing. She reaches behind her.

Black*Star gives a sheepish grin. "Well, uh...we were just-"

"GET OUT!"

And Black*Star and Death the Kid run like the wind from the terror of their team leader holding a book.

Despite all that, Black*Star does not endorse privacy.

_XIV._

The day promises to be just as boring as any other as Soul walks toward the school with his hands deep in his pockets. The grass crunches under his feet as we cuts straight across the front lawn of the academy. He figures his ridiculously rich school shouldn't have any problem with a little squashed grass.

_Fuck, I hate Mondays,_ he grumbles in his head. The bell rings when he's halfway across the lawn, lazily swinging his motorcycle keys around his index finger. The pledge of allegiance broadcasts over the intercom system. The perky voice of the reader grates on Soul's nerves. She's started the daily announcements when Soul finally saunters into the building.

"Evans!" The albino teenager slows, spinning on his heel to face the dean heading toward him.

"Hey, Mr. Cawly," Soul greets casually with a wave. This starts the man on his usual Monday spiel about respecting elders, arriving on time, walking on the grass (ok, so they do care a little bit...), etc.

Soul nods his head in appropriate places during the speech, adding a few 'yeah's and the occasional 'yessir'. His droopy-eyed stare, as usual, flies over the comically short dean's left shoulder. This time though, something interesting is happing in the office where normally there is no movement. He hears a light, melodic laugh from behind the door.

"...do you understand?"

Soul blinks, waiting just a second too long before nodding.

"Uh...uh-huh." The dean narrows his eyes at the pianist, but decides it's not worth his time. Soul wishes he'd decided that before even starting his lecture.

"Now get to class." The man scurries away into the office. Soul sees just a flash of blonde as the door closes. He blinks hard, mentally rubbing his eyes. He knows that blonde. The last time he saw it, it had disappeared up the side of a high-rise. He needs coffee, he thinks, because there's no way he's right.

_Class...gotta get to class..._

But as he trudges there, he can't seem to get that blonde color out of his head. Every blonde he passes in the hallway is just not quite the same shade or style or..or...stop. Thankfully, after stepping into the classroom and getting yet another lecture from his math teacher on his tardiness, he doesn't have time to dwell on it.

He walks to his desk in the back row, passing by Lauren's seat as he goes. She places something that feels like paper into his hand as he passes by. He drops it back on the ground next to her desk. He hears her gasp, and is confident she picked it back up. What ever happened to 'never see you again'? Oh well. That was just too good to be true.

He sits and pulls out the homework for today, happily done by one of the maids in exchange for a weekend off. He really is a lazy bastard.

This pattern, tardiness, followed by lecture, followed by Lauren's idiocy (damn the system for having almost all his classes with her!), proves that this Monday...sucks.

_XV._

Maka escaped the hotel before any of her fellow team members had awoken. She's grateful. She doesn't need any of them to make her nerves worse than they are. In a newly purchased messenger bag, she has tucked away all the files on Soul, files for her enrollment, and keys to the orange Aston Martin (her father's, but she looks better driving it anyway). She walks up to the school building, impressed by its classic architecture and well kept lawn. She keeps off the grass respectively, also in awe of a school having grass. There is a distinct lack of the stuff in Death City.

She enters the building with her head held high and heads straight for the office in the rotunda. She opens the door.

"Hello," says a happy voice from behind the desk, "Can I help you?" Maka likes the receptionist immediately. She has a friendly face and a plump figure dressed with immaculate style.

"Yes," Maka responds, "My name is Maka Albarn. I've just enrolled here." She pulls out the file with her resume (fake, courtesy of Kid), birth certificate, and previous schooling (also fake). She hands this to the receptionist.

"Thank you, dear." The woman smiles, and tells Maka to take a seat in one of the luxurious leather chairs while she gets the principal. Maka does as is asked while the woman makes a few phone calls. After a few minutes of waiting, the door opens to admit three adults. All are dressed in business attire and wear nametags that display their names and ranks.

The receptionist stands.

"Mr. Richards," she greets, "This is Maka Albarn, a new applicant. She wishes to start today." The tall man at the front of the three person entourage gives the meister a once over.

"Her files?" He asks, holding out his hand for them. The cheery woman at the desks hands them over promptly. The woman and man who entered with Mr. Richards lean over his shoulders to read each paper he flips through. Murmurs of 'impressive' and general praises emit from their lips.

Finally, the lead man walks up to the blonde girl.

"My name is Don Richards, I'm the principal here at Bach and Vivaldi Music Academy." He holds out his hand. Maka stands and shakes it firmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she answers pleasantly. "I'm Maka Albarn." Mr. Richards turns to his two companions and gestures to them. They step forward.

The woman steps forward, her stern but lovely face turned up in a charming smile. She introduces herself as Clair Vivian, the woman in charge of costuming and uniforms. Maka shakes her hand with another pleasantry.

The man has a low voice and calloused fingers. He starts with his title.

"I'm the Head of the Music Department here, Miss Albarn," he begins, "My name is Wyatt Berks, but the students call me Amp or Mr. Wyatt." He smiles warmly. Maka almost blushes; the music instructor is very handsome.

"Now that that's over and done with," Mr. Richards interrupts, "Let's all head into my office." The three adults head behind the desk, Maka following behind them to the door there. Inside the office is lavishly furnished, deep chocolate browns and black accents screaming money. CDs and books and music scores line the walls on rows and rows of shelving. All four occupants take seats around the room, Maka in the middle.

"Miss Albarn," the principal starts, "You're records are very impressive. From an acedemic standpoint, I see no reason to reject you; however, you must also prove yourself worthy as a student of music. Wyatt, if you please." The addressed man pulls a tuning fork from his pocket, tapping it and allowing the ring of middle C to float around the office.

"If you'd sing a major scale followed by a diminished triad, Miss Albarn," he requests. The blonde meister stands, taking a slow, controlled breath and lifting her left hand in a fist.

"_Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do,"_ she sings in clear tones, her hand following with each motion that represents each solfege. "_Do, Ti, La, So, Fa, Mi, Re, Do."_ She follows down. She drops her hand lower, moving onto the diminished triad.

"_La, Do, Mai, Do, La,"_ Maka finishes. Wyatt Berks nods acceptingly.

"That's just fine, Miss Albarn, you can sit," he says. The principal nods.

"Ms. Vivian," he addresses the woman staff member, "If you would get Maka's uniform ready, please." Clair Vivian hands Maka a form. The girl fills it out, circling the uniform parts she would like and filling in her sizes. The woman thanks her, making her way out with Wyatt in tow.

"May I ask you a question, Miss Albarn?" Mr. Richards asks the meister once the two are gone. She nods her consent.

"Certaintly."

The principal looks at her seriously. "Why are you really here?"

Maka blinks, tilting her head in slight confusion.

"I'm sorry?" She says, playing the innocent. Well, she is an angel after all (of death perhaps, but an angel nonetheless).

"Have you heard of the Death Weapon Meister Academy, Miss Albarn?" Maka laughs a little even as her palms start to sweat.

"I think everyone has, Mr. Richards. Yes, I have heard of it."

The man's gaze is intense, "My sister's son attends there, Miss Albarn."

Maka smiles, "That's amazing. Is he a weapon?" Inside, her heart is thumping loudly. What if he says no? What if he _knows? _Logically, Maka hopes he does know of DWMA and its purpose and possibly a little about how it functions. Maybe then he could understand the situation that brings her here.

Mr. Richards looks the prospective student straight in the eye, "Are you, by chance, the famous Maka Albarn my nephew always talks about? The leader of some elite team there?"

Maka freezes, returning his gaze with equal fervor. "And if I am?" The man sits back, pleased.

"Then I want to know how I can help you." Maka releases a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She thanks the faceless nephew for his unintentional help.

Maka pushes some of her hair back from her face. She wore it down today, claiming her pigtails to be her _Shibusen_ look. "Just put me in all classes you can with Soul Evans."

"Evans?"

"You understand the weapon and meister relationship, right, Mr. Richards?" The principal nods, already pulling up the mentioned student's class schedule. Maka is patient as she explains her reason.

"I ask that besides this, you do not get involved." Mr. Richards agrees immediately, repeating his question as to why she wants to be with Soul Evans in class. Maka gives him a determined grin. She knows if the man had any abilities in Soul Perception, he would see angel wings fluttering behind her in a small victory dance.

"This is something my team and I must do alone, our reasons are confidential. I will tell you though," she states, "I need to get closse to Soul Evans for one reason and one only." She knows she's being intense, but in the excitement of finally being here, of not having to alone anymore, she doesn't care.

"I believe Soul Evans to be my weapon."

_XVI._

Soul hates being right sometimes. This Monday had successfully pissed him off to no end, sixth hour rolling around with the same jackass attitute as the rest of the school day. He slumps into his seat (also at the back. The front is for those people who are actually awake) in his English class, tugging his Shakespeare collection out of his bag along with a pen and notebook. When the bell rings, he's already dozed off, drooling comforably on his desk. The sound jerks him awake along with his english teachers overly obnoxious voice.

"Ok, class!" She greets, bright and chipper. Because it is already the afternoon, Soul can forgive her, but that doesn't make him any less annoyed.

"Good news!" The woman continues, "I've decided when your tests will be on a Midsummer..." Soul tunes her out. Thankfully, Lauren is not in this class, so there's only one nuisance to ignore. Soul drums his ingers on the desk in the pattern for the score he had been composing when his mother had rudely interrupted during Wes's party.

"...lastly, we have a new student!"

Soul sits up straight at this. A new student? This late in the year? he expects nothing more than another rich snob. He hopes this student is a dude. This school is overrun by chicks in his opinion. Reality is, it's split fifty-fifty. Maybe he just got 'lucky' enough to have mostly girls in his class. Whoopee.

"Come on in," the teacher calls. Soul watches with disguised curiosity as the door opens. He finds himself glued to his seat when one long, slim leg pulls in a girl (naturally, because the universe hates him) with blonde hair. Not just any blonde hair though.

It's her.

Soul grips the edges of his desk as the girl introduces herself to the class as a vocalist named Maka Albarn. His heart is racing a million miles per hour. He's seen her outside his window, around the manor, jumping up buildings, and now here at school. Who is she? No one around him seems freaked by her arrival. His fellow classmates only share slight interest in this new girl who has entered their school. The instructor suggests she pick one of the empty seats. Next things Soul knows, the girl is striding toward him, perfect legs encases in argyle styled fishnet stockings bringing her toward him. She plops down in a desk close to him.

He groans mentally, staring at her more than can be considered appropriate. She has a pretty face with pale, smooth, unblemished skin and large, deep green eyes. Her blonde hair hangs to her shoulder blades, the ends curling slightly. He watches her cross one leg over the other. It doesn't distract him, he tells himself. She throws herself into the lesson, taking furious notes and answering questions as well as top students. Soul closes his eyes when she peels off her red blazer with the school emblem. He can see each toned muscle move elegantly under pale skin.

_Who is she?_ He wonders. When the bell rings to signal the end of class, Soul hightails it out of there, heading for lunch. In his peripheral vision, he swears he sees her watching him, a bit a smirk on her pretty face.

She replaces it with a smile as she heads up to the teacher's desk. Soul turns his head away and doesn't look back. No matter how hard he tries this time, he can't get that girl, Maka Albarn, out of his head.

It scares him.

_to be continued in..._

_Never Never Land_

**Translations:**

**(Please tell me if doing this in this way is obnoxious. Thanks.)**

**After Maka made a Black*Star-sized dent in the gym wall:**

The blue-haired meister stands slowly, his hand rubbing his head. Maka proudly notes the grin has been replaced with narrowed eyes.

"_Shit_, Maka," he curses, "That fuckin' hurt!"

The meister smirks with her hands on her hips, "I told you not to hold back!"

"Well then," Black*Star slides back into his stance, "_Let's go!"_ Then he launches off the gym's mat.

**Maka charming the gym owner:**

Then insert Black*Star.

"Wonderful? It's no-" Maka slaps a hand over his mouth. She widened her smile at the owner. "_Shut up,_" she hisses between her teeth, face pretty but voice hard. The assassin gulps. He acknowledges the power of a Maka-Chop.

**After Black*Star's cussing intervention:**

Black*Star laughs obnoxiously, "The police are _second_ to us, jackass! We are _meisters!_" Maka faintly remembers a certain inaccurate movie depiction of the battle of Thermopylae. Then she wonders how many curses Black*Star knows with the word ass in them.

"Not in this town you don't!" The beep of the second 1 snaps Maka's patience. She spins on her heel and grabs her fellow student by the collar of his shirt.

"_Shut the hell up! (__**literally: You're too noisy!**__)" _She yells in his face, "_Don't be an idiot!"_ She gestures at the man who stands posed with his finger over the call button, 911 dialed on the screen. _"Let's leave, right now. Don't cause a scene (__**literally: don't try to be cool**__)."_

_" You bitch,"_ Black*Star grumbles in return.

"Maka-chop!" But the blonde does not take too kindly to his cursing. The blue-haired teen drops to the ground, holding his head.

"_Dammit, Maka, that hurts!" _She smiles evilly at his pain. Maka looks to the owner.

**Questioning Black*Star's motives:**

Maka looks back with an eyebrow raised at Black*Star.

"_Are you serious, idiot?" _She resents that he gives her an 'oh, come on' grin, tilting his head toward the idiots asking for blood.

**Kid's first conversation to Tsubaki:**

Kid presses his phone to his ear.

"_Hello, Tsubaki," _he greets, voice low, _"Yes...how are you?...Are you ready?...Soul Evans...he is.."_ Patti dutifully highlights key information even though she and her sister's combined understanding of the Japanese language amounts to a hamster's. They are street-bred Americans, what good would some eastern language do for them?

"_Let's continue...his family..." _ Kid speaks quickly and efficiently, leaning over Patti's shoulder. The younger Thompson sighs, boredom causing her to rest her chin on the heel of her hand, usual endless energy seemingly disappeared.

**Liz's interruption:**

"Patti, Kiddo," she breathes, "You've gotta see this."

"_Wait a minute, please, Tsubaki,"_ Kid says, finally tugging the phone from his ear. He politely covers the receiver. "What is it, Liz?"

"I got this picture of him in the school newspaper..."

**In which Kid is serious and Liz is foolish:**

"Scroll down, Elizabeth," Death the Kid orders, lifting the phone back to his ear. "..._Soul Evans attends a performing arts academy...he studies music...piano..."_

Liz leans over, blowing gently in her meister's ear. His steady stream of Japanese falters, and she takes the pause to shout: "And he's hawt!" Right into the phone. There is a collective shhing! in the library. A few patrons shoot death glares at the trio. Those brave enough to glare are shot down as two demon guns and a death god respond in turn.

Tsubaki stutters back, "_Wh-what? Kid, why-?"_

_"Ignore it, Tsubaki-san, Liz is being an idiot," _He explains, shooting a disapproving look at the elder of his two weapons. "_Umm..."_

Liz stands up straight, pointing an accusing finger at her meister, "You said my name!" She turns to her sister, "Didn't he say my name?"

**Liz's conditions and Patti's creeping hands:**

"_Sorry, Tsubaki,"_ he whispers to the receiver, "_I'll have to call you back." _And he then taps the 'end call' button, the screen on his phone blacking out. "What are you planning?"

**During Soul interesting drive:**

Long, blonde pigtails fly around her head. _Not pink. Ok._

"_Let's go, Lady Captain (__**-chama is a baby talk honorific of -sama. I figure Black*Star and Maka probably banter stupidly a lot...)**__,"_ The boy shouts, gesturing vaguely toward the sky. Soul has no idea what he just said, still amazed he was able to hear anything at all. The girl says something back, her lips moving too far away for him to read. Soul gets the idea that she is responding in the same language the boy had spoken in, so he wouldn't have understood anyway.

_**And that is the end until next time!**_

_**Love, Cori Redde**_


End file.
